katiewest

I see broken-hearted men and have an overwhelming urge to comfort them. To make their beds warm again, to let them wean off of girl-flesh. How dare she dump him cold turkey and expect him to survive? I assure him its ok to cry. (And yes darling, of course shes a bitch.) Men with tears in their eyes are appealing to all of my senses. I can taste the salty pain and kiss them to wet my lips and hear his sorrow sighs and smell his absolute longing.
Unhappy men need me to save them. Their wives have forgotten how to touch them, and make them sleep on couches. These men are lonely and deserving of my love. My naked body so light and soft against their squishy bellies and rough faces. They hit me to make me giggle and bite me to make me scream. (Oh god, my wife has never, would never, do that.) They fall asleep quickly and dont usually come. They hold me very tightly and sometimes name me their wives in their sleep and then squeeze me tighter.
The men I love will leave me for someone new or return to their wives. I comfort them and covet every inch of their skin, assuring them that they are still gods and will be loved again soon.